Too Quiet
by xascasfellx
Summary: What would happen if Future!Dean never met Past!Dean? What would happen if Lucifer took pity on Dean and didn't kill him? What would become of Dean if he finally lost everyone he cared about?


Title: Too Quiet

Author: xascasfellx

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Spoilers: End!Verse 5x04 and some of 8x23

Word Count: 3,139

Warning: Mention of drug use, Mention of alcoholism, Major Character Death

The camp remained silent. There were no crickets chirping in the distance. There were no more dogs barking at nothing; they had to put down their only one a few months ago. She could no longer find her own food and was dying anyway. Cans scattered the roads they had built, along with some other array of debris. The remains of the once loved Impala still sat motion less and unused somewhere behind the fence. The night was too quiet.

The distractions were no longer with the camp, and their families and friends were staying in their cabins, mourning their deaths, ignoring Dean. No one, not even Chuck would look at him once he made it back to camp alone, empty handed, and a complete failure. Chuck didn't even need to say it; it was obvious what he was thinking: Dean really fucked up this time. Before the mission everything was clear. He knew what he was going to do; knew what he had to do.

And if that meant throwing a few people to the wolves than it had to be done. There was a bigger picture at hand.

Risa. Cas.

Dean didn't want to do that to them. Hell they both knew damn well what Dean's plan had been all along without him having to tell them, yet they went anyway. Still, he wanted to regret it. He did regret it.

The streets felt too quiet tonight. The gunshots still rang in his ears. Lucifer's words still weighed heavy in his chest. Why, after everyone else was killed, after Castiel was killed, why had Lucifer let him live? Dean begged him. He broke down after years and years of having no emotion, after showing nothing to no one. He wanted to die fighting his brother. Somewhere deep down Sam had to still be in there, or Dean wouldn't be standing in the middle of the camp now.

Head hung low, Dean trudged forward towards his own cabin. The isolated exterior frightened him. He didn't kill the Devil. He killed some of the most loyal and loved people in the camp. He killed his only true friend left. Dean fucked up in ways he'd never had before.

Dean didn't, couldn't, be alone tonight. No one would let him in. Before he could walk down the road and every girls doors would be wide open, inviting him in. Now every single one was shut, blocking him out. His heart didn't ache for sex or drugs, liquor or women. He didn't want any of those right now. Dean wanted one thing; one person more than anything.

He went further down the brick way till he came to the small wooden cabin he'd been to a million times. The planks were noisy when he walked up them; the beads too loud and happy when he pushed inside. Pillows still scattered the floor in a circle. The air still had a faint smell of pot to it. A bong lay on the floor beside the biggest pillow, positioned at the head of the circle. Dean's mouth pulled together tight, the equivalent of a smile for him. There were many memories of him, Cas, and that bong. There were many memories of him and Cas in that room. He shuffled deeper into the space, his boots heavy on his feet. All of a sudden his eyes drooped down, making him stumble over one of the pillows. His whole body felt exhausted from the earlier battle. If Dean wasn't so tired tears would most likely be flowing down his face at that moment. Beside his bed, on the end table sat one of Cas' favorite guns, an AR-15 9mm Carbine Colt. Dean had gotten it for him a few months after Cas had fallen. Why hadn't he taken it with him this mission? Never once had he left it behind.

Beside that was a ratty photograph. It was from before. Dirt and stains have made it impossible to see what it was of anymore. But Dean knew. He didn't have to see the picture to know which one it was. In fact, he remembered that day so clearly it was as if it were a few days ago instead of years. It was taken before the Angel's fell, before Sam said yes, before he'd lost himself. Sam was on the hood of the Impala, smiling down at Dean who was drinking a beer through his own tight faced smile. In the back you could see Cas, still in his trench-coat and suit, wide eyed with a hint of a smile on his lips. As the years went by Dean forgot who had taken the picture-they were most likely dead now. Everyone else in the picture was, except the asshole with the beer. He turned his head. There were other things in the cabin that made it Cas'; liquor bottles, needles, more guns. Everything screamed the new Castiel. The one who was mortal. The one who fell. But there was one other thing that stood out amongst everything else.

His trench-coat.

It was dirty, ratted, probably not even all there anymore. It sat folded on his dresser underneath more junk. Dean turned further away, falling back onto Castiel's cot with a loud squeak of springs. The ceiling was stained with rain and smoke. There were spots that would be falling in any day now. There's no point and fixing them anymore. There'd never be anyone in here again.

Flashes of the Devil wearing his brother came to mind as he closed his eyes. Flashes of his friends, dead, bloody on the floor, also appeared. The night was too quiet.

A loud crash, almost like wood on wood came from outside. Croats. Damn it. Grabbing his gun from his thigh holster, Dean dashed from the bed, almost running into the figure that was about to enter the cabin. His gun was halfway up to the persons head before he stepped to see who it was.

"Castiel?" He didn't recognize his own voice. Cas was starring at him, blue eyes as wide and watery as he's seen them in years. Before he knew it Cas was holding on to the front of his shirt, falling down to his knees. "Whoa, Cas-shit-get the fuck inside-" He mostly spoke to himself. Castiel was almost as out of it as when he was stoned. Dean hurled him up by his arms, throwing one over his shoulder, the other resting on his waist for support.

They barely made it to the bed before Cas fell face first onto it. Blood covered every inch of him. Dean couldn't get a good enough look to see if it was his own or the croats.

"Cas, hey," He rolled him on his back just to see his stomach wasn't moving. Lowering his face closer he couldn't detect the small puffs of air on his skin. "Fuck!" Dean removed Cas' two shirts to get better access and began compressions, muttering in between them. The longer he went the more tiered he became. He lifted Castiel's chin up and gave two clear breaths before continuing on his chest. "Goddamn it Castiel. You are not dying you bastard. You can't leave. Fuck! Come on Cas-" Two more breaths were delivered to Castiel's mouth. There was still no response. Checking Cas' wrist he noticed no heartbeat either. "Fucking Christ, I swear to God Cas, you are not dying on me! You you hear me? You are not leaving me again!" Just as he was about to lean down for another breath Castiel jerked forward, inhaling deeply. Dean let out his own sigh of relief.

"What the fuck hap-" His eyes fell on Dean and became wide. "You-I thought you were dead-"

"And why'd you think that?" He asked, trying to calm his heart. His voice had gone two pitches higher than normal.

"I went back to the garden-" Dean cut him off.

"Why'd the fuck you do that for? I told you your mission, why didn't you listen to me damn it?" For a split second Cas seemed hurt, pained, almost disbelieving in what Dean had said, but soon enough he was back to his new self.

"Because the Croats and Demons left about an hour into the fight. I was the only one left and I went to find you, _damn it." _He rolled his eyes, mocking Dean's tone. "If it's any consolation, I'm glad you're alive." He tried to get up but Dean pushed him back down onto the mattress.

"Were you infected?" Cas shook his head slowly.

"Don't think so. Better safe than sorry though, am I right?" Picking up his gun from the bedside table, Cas shoved it into Dean's hand, ignoring the fact that he already had his own gun beside him. Castiel just gave that same toothy grin he'd always used when he was high. Dean looked down at the gun, before returning back to Cas. He tossed it to the side.

"Just go the fuck to sleep." He handled his own gun with shaking hands as he walked across the room to the only chair in there. Cas followed his every step with a gladden grin on his face. Though after a minute of staring at each other Cas finally turned to the side and soon he was snoring-still in his pants and shoes, and covered in blood. Dean would sit there all night, watching his breathing, praying to whatever force that was still out there that he wouldn't have to use that gun anymore tonight.

...

The first hint of Castiel stirring in his sleep had Dean bolting from his chair over to the edge of the bed. Cas shook lightly before sitting up right, sweat dripping from his hair, eyes wide and dilated. Dean's hands hovered hesitantly over his weapon.

"You're still here-" His voice was strained, making it hard for him to hear. "Thought you'd bail after I went to sleep like usual." He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up even more.

"Special circumstances." They both eyed the gun as Dean sat down beside Cas. "'Know-I thought you had been ganked too. 'spected as much anyway." His voice was low a he spoke. "Then you showed back up and died in my arms-again." He added. "Then you lived-then you asked me to shoot you." He turned to give the best smile he could manage. "There's no winnin' with you. 'know that right?"

"I tend to think of myself as very complex." Cas huffed out a laugh, leaning against the wall. Their shoulders almost touched; Dean almost began to feel warm. They stayed silent. For a second he'd thought Cas had fallen back to sleep. But he didn't. There was no longer any movement beside him. Dean turned to see Cas' eyes closed, mouth half open. On his knees now, Dean took Cas by the shoulders and continuously shook him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of life.

"Fuck it Cas-Castiel-damn it! Wake up-" He jumped forward, almost knocking his forehead on Dean's. "Stop. Doing that." Cas managed a weak smile. His eyes were drained of energy; the blue fading to an almost grey. Their faces were mere inches form the other.

"Didn't-" He had to inhale abruptly to catch his breath. "Know-our-fearless leader-cared that much-"

"Stop calling me that Cas." Castiel searched his face lazily.

"You haven't been Dean in years." He whispered.

"You haven't been Cas." He countered, dropping his eyes to Cas' lips.

"When have I ever been just Cas?"

"Touche." Castiel leaned forward, pushing his lips to Dean's. It was messy to where he'd gotten just below his bottom lip instead. Dean didn't move to fix it. He remained motionless, staring at Cas' closed eyelids.

"Usually, one moves their lips when they are being kissed." He mumbled against them before giving up and leaning out.

"You fucking died less than two hours ago. No. I can't-not tonight."

"Hey-might as well go out with a bang before the lights go out." He winked, giving another toothy grin. Dean's face hardened into the leader he'd trained himself to be.

"You're not dying tonight Castiel. Damn it-you're-you're not fucking doing it-"

"Dean-" He cupped Dean's cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb over one of the scars that ran down his face. "Just shut up-" They both leaned in, crashing tongues together fiercely. Seconds later that heated, wet kiss turned slower, softer. Cas's tongue explored Dean's mouth like never before. Sure they had kissed before, but nothing like this. They'd both silently agreed that it was just fucking. They'd both fucked so many people that it was never anything more than that. This time though was nothing like he'd ever done with anyone. Castiel ran his hands through Dean's hair, pushing him onto his back as he straddled his hips. He was still shirtless from the CPR, making it easy for Dean to reach up and run his hands down Cas' chest, down past his stomach, and slip underneath his cargo pants. He was already hard, leaking precome onto the black fabric. Cas threw his head back as Dean began to stroke him gently. Usually he would just get blown or fucked by Cas and let him fend for himself after he got off, but tonight, it was different. He watched as Cas fought to keep his eyes open. He watched as he bit his bottom lip. He watched as he made a small o with his mouth. How had he not noticed these things before? Castiel pushed at Dean's shirt, exposing his injuries form earlier. They both ignored them. He leaned down to press another gentle kiss to Dean's eager mouth. It was written all over his face. It had always been there. Again, how had he never noticed? Why hadn't he given Cas the one thing he's hungered for, for however long, but would never come out and ask?

"Get on your back." He whispered into Castiel's ear. Cas' eyes widen at the request, but he did. Dean tore both their pants and boots off till nothing separated them from the skin on skin contact they craved. He looked around for a second before moving towards the side table. Cas had a half used bottle of lube left and only one condom. When he was back, positioned over top of Cas, he was about to speak but Dean cut him off with a quick kiss to the lips. Because tonight, for some unknown reason, was different, he wouldn't ignore Cas this time. He would give him what he wanted.

Dean spread Cas' legs wide to give him better access. Lubing his fingers, he pressed in to him, slowly, as slowly as he could. Cas inhaled sharply, pushing down on Dean's fingers, taking more of him in. He began to move his fingers in and out of Cas, hitting his prostate every other time, earning the best sounds from deep within his throat. He stretched him open with a second finger till he added a third. Castiel was withering under him with every brush against his sweet spot. He could see it in his eyes. He wanted it, but wouldn't ask. He'd never ask Dean for anything.

Dean removed his fingers, lubed up his cock, before hovering over Cas' entrance. His eyes were huge as he waited for Dean to enter him.

Finally Dean pushed in. Cas let out a loud groan and bucked his hips up, hitting Dean on the stomach with his neglected cock. Dean thrust into him as he grabbed Cas' dick, meeting in with the rhythm of his hips. 'Fucks' 'Shits' and 'Oh My Gods' came out of Cas' mouth every second. As a person who was normally loud in bed, Dean stayed quiet besides the grunts and moans he just couldn't help but make. He was too caught up in the sight below him. How had he not noticed so many small details about Cas before? How could he not have wanted to know these things about him? How could he not want to keep learning every small detail possible he could about Castiel? In that moment he wasn't Camp Chitaqua's fearless leader fucking one of his survivors, he was Dean Winchester, making love to a man he'd been in love with for years, a man who loved him back for just as long. In that moment nothing else mattered but the way Cas grabbed onto Dean's shoulder, right where his hand print stayed. Nothing else mattered but the way Cas watched him with ecstasy filled eyes. Nothing else mattered but Cas.

Before he knew it Cas was coming around his hand and all over their stomachs. Cas' eyes rolled back into his head as he screamed Dean's name, muffled by Dean's lips. Seconds later Dean was pushed over the edge as well. He heard himself scream Cas' name into the nap of his neck as the best orgasm of his life washed through him.

He pulled out of Cas, not caring at the moment that he'd forgotten the condom in the rush. They lay beside each other panting and catching their breaths. He rolled over to see Castiel staring at him with a look he'd been given since the moment he'd meet Cas, but only now did he read into what it meant. There were no need for words. The look said it all. He moved his head up and down on the pillow. Cas understood. Things weren't perfect, nor would they ever be, but as long as the other one knew, then they could get through it. Dean inched closer, wrapping his hands around Cas' waist. He sank deep into Dean's arms as they fell asleep.

...

Dean hadn't cried in years. He pushed down faster and harder, ignoring the comments from behind him. There was nothing. He carried on as the tears fell from his eyes, clouding his vision. More people filled the cabin. He didn't care. He sped up the compressions. His arms were burning, but he didn't stop. His lungs burned, but he didn't stop. He only sped up is at all possible.

"Come on you son of a bitch! You promised. You can't-please-you can't leave me." He whispered through clenched teeth. He'd been going at it for thirty minutes now. Nothing. "Come on baby. You aren't-you can't fucking-come on!" A hand rested on his shoulders. He didn't have it in him to turn and yell at whoever it was.

"Dean-Dean come on. He's-"

"Don't fucking say it! He's not dead! Fuck off Chuck!" He screamed, not once wavering from the CPR.

"Dean-" Chuck physically pulled him away, spinning him around.

"Don't-please Chuck-" He cried out, gripping the arms of the smaller man.

"I'm sorry Dean. Cas-Cas is dead...he's gone man. He's gone."


End file.
